Stuck
by soda-me
Summary: Yes, a TT fic. I'll admit it. You know the drill: two girls go back in time to Tulsa...Flames accepted!


**AN: This will most likely stay a one-shot. But this is for you, Live2Read. I wasn't going to post it, but here it is. Feel free to flame. I probably deserve it.**

**PS: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders!**

**Chapter One**

"Ya know what?" I asked suddenly, walking through the mall with my friend. "I think that The Outsiders should have a sequel." My friend Bel rolled her eyes.

"Oh yeah, like we've only heard this a hundred times before," she said, only half-joking.

Okay. I'll admit it. At almost fifteen (less than two months to go!), I have a slightly unhealthy obsession with S.E. Hinton's _The Outsiders_. But only slightly. In case you're wondering, my favourite character is Sodapop, the guy Rob Lowe played in the movie version. The celebrities of 2007 have got nothing on those greasers.

I giggled. Ew. I can't believe I actually giggled. If the greasers were real, they would never want to meet me. "I know. But don't you think it could work?"

Bel pushed back her short-ish reddish brown hair and smiled. "Without Johnny and Dallas?" she asked. She likes the book too, even if she gets sick of me talking about it. "No way. It would never work. They were practically the whole point of the book!"

I chose to let that slide, even though I could've given her a mouthful after that statement. As a die-hard Soda fan, I disagreed. Sure, I understand he's not the main character, but the book, to me, is about friendships and brothers. And Johnny and Dallas. It's a wonderful blend.

"I guess you're right." I was lying through my teeth. Usually nobody but me got the last say on my favourite topic. Was I becoming slightly less obsessed? Possibly. Which could be a good thing. "Anyway, at least I have fanfiction to give me my Outsiders fix every day."

Bel wrinkled her cute little nose. I wish I had freckles. "But those are so littered with monstrosities it isn't even remotely entertaining any longer," she said with a sigh. Am I the only one who didn't quite get that? Occasionally she goes into encyclopedia-mode. But you get used to her.

"I know," I agreed. "Mary-Sues are the worst. Not to mention time travel stories—" admittedly you find a good one of those every once in a while, although often they too are Sues, "—and extra siblings thrown into the mix. Seriously, they need to clean up the content on that website. Especially in the archives. I mean, I click on a C2 that says 'the best of the best' or whatever, and it's full of stories that aren't worth crap!" Uh-oh. I was getting heated now. "Fanfiction is a wonderful tool for aspiring young authors, but when used incorrectly, its function is totally dissipated!" Even worse. I was starting to talk like Bel. "Back me up on this, Bel!"

Bel giggled. On her, giggling is okay. On me, it just makes people stare because it is so weird and abnormal for me. "You know I don't check out fanfiction as much as you do. But I like your stories," she offered sweetly.

I smacked her playfully. "You're my best friend! You have to say that." She smiled but didn't deny it. Suddenly the whole mall tilted before my eyes and I shook my head quickly, expecting the dizziness to go away. Luckily it did, and I blamed the whole thing on my eyes, freshly outfitted with contacts. But then it happened again, and when I tried to clear the air by shaking my head again, nothing happened. The room kept spinning and I was getting dizzier and dizzier until I felt just plain nauseous. I have never been able to handle spinny rides at amusement parks and such, and I couldn't take it now. I closed my eyes and tried to grab onto something.

And when I opened them, the mall was gone. Everything was gone—the stores, the shoppers, the cheesy mall music. It was just me and, strangely, Bel. Why hadn't she disappeared too?

"Uh, Rach?" Bel asked uncertainly, looking around. "What just happened?" We were in what appeared to be a school. The hallway, to be more precise. But I figured classes were still going since we were the only ones standing around there. Apparently, I wasn't crazy, since she could see all this too. Either that or we were both suffering mental breakdowns at the same time.

"You expect me to know?" I snorted. "You're the encyclopedia, not me!"

Bel laughed nervously. "If this were a book we'd have traveled back in time," she tried to joke. I didn't laugh, or even giggle (shudder). Because I was busy reading a plaque on the wall. An award for athletics, actually, that said:

**Athletic Scholarship, 1962: Darrel Curtis, Jr. **

And it was then that things started getting way, _way _too spooky.

The bell rang, and the hall flooded with kids. As I suspected, about half were in tight jeans and T-shirts, and the others in white pressed pants and ski jackets. Well, the guys anyway. The girls were wearing skirts or school dresses, and depending on their side of the war in town, they were either a good decent length, or short enough to get the guys' attention.

Bel and I stuck out like sore thumbs. Because I was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and she was wearing jean kapris and a tank top. Therefore, we were dressed basically like boys. Lovely.

I was on the lookout for a few certain boys, foolishly thinking I would recognize them instantly. Then I realized, ready to kick myself, that the people I was looking for would not look like their movie counterparts. Of course not. In their world, there was no such movie!

Where were we? In Outsiders-land of course. Or more accurately, 1964 Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Bel hadn't quite figured it out yet, I could tell from the look on her face. Well, either that or she just didn't want to look silly telling me we had, indeed, traveled back in time.

"Um, Rach," she said hesitantly again. "Do you know where we are? Because, um, I think we—"

"Not here, Noelle!" I hissed, using her real name for effect. "People will think we're insane!"

Bel just sighed, looking deeply relieved. "But you don't think I'm going crazy? Oh, good."

"Look at these white trash greaser girls," a shadow spilled over us. I knew that taunting tone. Well, I'd read about it, anyway. Normally they probably would have left girls alone. But I guess they figured that since we dressed like guys, we would be treated like guys. I looked up to see who was talking and possibly give them a piece of my mind, but then I froze, stunned. It was Robert—Bob—Sheldon. Which meant we'd gotten here pre-novel. Which meant if things played out properly, when I got home there would be no book, no movie, no…S.E. Hinton? Was she here? Were the characters real people after all? Ah! I needed a place to think this all over, because my brain was starting to hurt, and I was going all dizzy again.

But I met his eyes and didn't crack a smile, even though I was tempted to. "Were you talking to me?" I asked, and he and his buddies sniggered. Ugh. I hate accents. They obviously thought I talked funny because I didn't have the Oklahoma dialect.

"Why don't you go home and change clothes?" sneered Bob. Obnoxious and yet handsome. The world is an even stranger place when you go back a few decades.

I stood up a little straighter, opened my mouth to say something and was promptly dragged away by Bel, into what I assumed was the ladies room. Indeed, it was, thankfully.

There were a few girls—Socs, presumably—primping in front of the mirrors. Even in over forty years, some things never changed in life, and the high school cheerleading squad was one of them.

"Nice outfit," one of them said a little too sweetly. That tone gave her away completely. Oh, and the pack of snickering girls behind her might've helped too.

I was so tempted to pull a Princess Diaries and smush something into her own outfit. But I didn't see any ice cream cones handy. There is no justice in the world, even in the sixties. So I just went, "You must be a cheerleader," and turned away.

"What?"

"You heard me. You must be a cheerleader." I didn't look back at her.

"No, what did you mean?" Realizing it wasn't the same voice of the girl I'd just told off, I looked and saw a girl with red, wavy hair that curled at the ends, past her shoulders. She was in a light blue sweater and a plaid skirt.

"Cherry Valence," I said under my breath.

"I'm Cherry Valence," Cherry introduced herself even though I hadn't asked for her name.

"Nice name," Bel muttered, even though she knew full well that it was just a nickname because of her hair. Man, for a (nice) geek she sure has a vendetta against cheerleaders. Kinda like me.

"Oh, my real name is Sherri. But people call me Cherry because of my hair," Cherry explained brightly.

"I know," I said, then could've kicked myself when they all stared at me. "I mean, I, uh, figured it must be a nickname. I mean, who would name their kid something like Cherry?"

"Actually," a brunette, one of the less mean-looking ones, spoke up, "There are a few boys at our school with strange names. One of them is named Sodapop."

The washroom exploded with giggles. _Ew. _I of all people knew the powers of Soda/Rob Lowe's good looks, but honestly. Even in the sixties I couldn't escape the cheerleaders!

"He's a doll," the brunette continued once the shrill laughter had died down. "He works at the gas station, the DX. Not that we go around places like that, of course," she assured me quickly.

I fought hard not to roll my eyes. Of course they did. Girls like them went there to flirt with him all the time. Naturally, I couldn't say anything, much though I was dying to fire back a retort.

Cherry smiled. "It was nice to meet you." She and her pack of gigglers strolled out of the washroom leaving Bel and I in bewildered silence. Well. Why were they even being nice to us? Except for the first one who'd spoken, of course. But Socy girls striking up a conversation with what appeared to be two greaser girls dressed like boys? It so wasn't meant to be happening.

Bel scowled. "I never liked her in the movie and book, remember?" she asked me.

I grinned. "That's because you had a crush on Ponyboy. And you saw the movie first, the part where she flounces off and basically leaves him blowing in the wind." Bel smiled sheepishly. I hastened to warn her, "Well, don't get your hopes up for hooking up with that greaser you have your heart set on, because they probably won't look anything like in the movie. They're supposed to be fictional characters, remember?"

"Oh, right," Bel said with a little sigh. "But at least I'll get to talk to him, right?"

I smacked her on the arm. "No! Bel, if at all possible, we will avoid any conversation with the greasers! I mean, what are we supposed to do, save them from the murder and all that? Just march over and be all, 'Excuse me, this is going to sound crazy, but I'm from the future, and I read the book and saw the movie about your life, and I just wanted to warn you: tell Darry not to hit Ponyboy in a few days or whatever, because then Johnny will murder a Soc and then they'll go to an abandoned church and set it on fire, and Johnny will die and Dallas will get shot down by the police'?"

But before Bel could answer (after she stopped giggling, that is), one of the stalls opened and out walked another greaser girl, her eyes wide.

"What's going to happen to Ponyboy?"

See, that's what I hate about high schools. No matter where you are, someone is always listening in. You think, after the stream of preening popular girls leaves the room, that you finally have privacy, somewhere to talk without it being spread through the school by next period. But no. There is no place, to my knowledge, safe from gossipy girls' ears. Particularly not the washroom.

This particular eavesdropper was not someone I immediately recognized, as I had Cherry. But when she told me her name, I instantly wanted to eat my previously spoken words.

"I'm Linda Mathews," she burst out in a frantic rush, "Are my brother's friends in trouble? Did a Soc really get murdered? Is Johnny dead? And Dallas Winston too?"

I prayed for the floor to open up, I really did. Or to travel back in time to 2006, 2007, anywhere besides here, really. Then I almost made a sarcastic joke out of it all. _No, I'm delusional. _Tempting, but that would probably just freak her out more. What was she doing here, anyway? From the book I'd always just assumed that she wasn't in high school yet. But, of course, here things weren't dictated by the plot of the book. Or were they? Note to self: figure that one out.

"Um," I went with finally. "No. Sorry to scare you, but I was just, er, making up a story. And don't worry, I promise not to kill off your brother Two-Bit," I winked at her, all jovial.

Linda just looked startled. "You know Two-Bit? I mean Keith?"

Bang, bang. Shoot me now! "Uh…was that the bell?" I tried to make a quick getaway, but Bel wouldn't have it. She stuck her foot out and shook her head furiously. Then she pasted on her most charming smile.

"Who hasn't heard of him? I mean, a junior at nineteen? Your brother is practically a local celebrity!" Bel said brightly, and Linda smiled back, although looking a bit confused. Of course she was confused. I wanted to hit Bel again for using words like "I mean" and "celebrity." I was pretty sure they used the term "movie star" in the sixties. But she was the smart one, not me.

Just then the real bell rang. And I booked it out of that washroom as fast as I could. Turned out school was out for the day. Perfect. Bel hurried after me as I ran outside to the parking lot, which was quickly flooding with students, Socs and greasers alike. I practically dragged my friend around to the back of the school, which wasn't nearly as crowded.

Bel, as alluded to earlier, is not her real name. Her real first name is Noelle, but for some reason (unknown to me, and I'd known her for over eight years) her mom called her Bella. Yep, Bella. So, since she wasn't a big fan of either name, I decided to call her Bel back when we were in the fourth grade, and it just stuck. And her middle name? Not sure why you'd want to know, but Bel just calls it the F word. Yeah, she hates it that much. For the record, it's Francine. (See why she calls it the dreaded F word now?)

"Great, Two-Bit's sister overheard us talking about two of her brother's closest friends dying! What are we supposed to do now?" I exclaimed once I was sure no one was eavesdropping this time. Bel shrugged, and I got impatient. "Thanks for the help," I said sarcastically. "We're somehow in Tulsa in the sixties, before the book ever took place, and I have no idea what to do, where to go, or what to say to anybody. We know the book's characters are wandering around here somewhere since we've already met Bob, Cherry, I'm pretty sure the other girl was Marcia—you know, the one jabbering about Sodapop—and for some reason, Two-Bit's little sister." Argh. This whole thing was like some weird choose-your-own-adventure book. Never liked those. I always skipped to both options, read the outcomes, and then made my choice. Cheating, I know. Unfortunately, I couldn't do that now. Basically, I was stuck here. And I had no idea what to do.


End file.
